


I'm Swept Away and My Heart Ensnared

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, background wellven - Freeform, more like argumentative nerds to better friends to lovers but whatevs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: Raven hums low in her throat. “Well, at least Bellamy can make it up in time. So you won’t get too axe murdered.”Clarke wrinkles her nose, leaning on the banister of the upstairs porch. From here she can see the ocean, just a five minute walk away, and she breathes in brine soaked air.“He’s still coming?”“What do you mean if he’s still coming? He didn’t say anything otherwise.”She shifts from foot to foot, feeling herself colour slightly even though there’s no one there to see her. “I just assumed that because you and Miller couldn’t make it up anymore he wouldn’t come today.”“Why the hell did you think that?”“Because Bellamy and I aren’t exactly friends, Raven."or, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin don't really like each other. Or at least that's what they tell themselves.





	I'm Swept Away and My Heart Ensnared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moucaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moucaaa/gifts).



> Cam: i want a beach fic where they decide to have sex because they're bored and alone
> 
> Me: somehow turns that into a 15k oneshot???
> 
> I feel like I should add a disclaimer because idk how anything in America works so there might be a few logistical errors. We're just gonna ignore those for the sake of fanfiction should they arise. Title from 'Siren' by The Honey Trees.
> 
>  
> 
> _You were storm and I a sail_  
>  _Caught in the middle of you_  
>  _I was a fool and my heart it fell_  
>  _In and around you_  
>  _Trembling there in the midst of truth I_  
>  _Would have lost myself in your waves_

Clarke sighs, repositioning the phone between her neck and shoulder as she unlocks the doors to the house.

“Is everything okay up there?” Raven asks, voice sounding a tinny through the line. Reception has always been spotty up here and she knows that it drives the other girl  _ crazy _ .

“Yeah, got up in one piece, the house is still intact, no sign of any crazy, axe wielding psychos as yet but it’s only 2 p.m.” she says, going through the arduous process of opening all the windows to let the place air out. She got a cleaning crew to come and freshen up the place a week before but besides the people her mother hires to keep it in pristine condition, no one has been to the house in years.

It makes her heart pang; she missed this place.

“Please tell me that you knocked on wood. You can’t say something like that, Griffin,” says Raven, and she can hear the roll of her eyes.

“My bad,” she says lightly, stretching up on her toes to throw open the ones above the kitchen sink. “If someone does go all Jack Torrance on me you have my permission to hold a seance and yell at me in the afterlife.”

“I’ll pull my ouija board from the back of my closet just in case,” she deadpans before sighing imperceptibly. “You know I’m sorry for ditching right?”

“So you’ve said. At least twelve times.”

“Well I am,” she huffs.

“Now we’re up to thirteen.”

“ _ Clarke _ .”

She sobers up. “It’s fine Raven, really. I know you’ve been dying to poke around under a Tesla for ages, okay? It’s my fault for wanting to come up today when no one else could.”

“It’s not your fault Clarke,” she snorts. “It’s… it’s shitty timing and adult responsibilities.”

“Damn us for growing past the age of eighteen.”

“Truly a terrible oversight on our part,” she agrees. “But hey, I should be done in a week tops depending on what’s going on with that baby, plus by then Wells should hopefully get another flight to bring him back to the good ol’ U.S. of A. And Jasper and Monty should be… done with whatever is keeping them back in the first place.”

“Sorting out some glitch with their app or something?” she hedges, climbing up the stairs so that she can air out the bedrooms too. “I think someone tried to hack them so Monty is re-coding bits and pieces which might take days according to Jasper. I don’t know. You know I can never keep up with their tech jargon. And Miller isn’t driving down without Monty.”

Raven hums low in her throat. “Well, at least Bellamy can make it up in time. So you won’t get  _ too  _ axe murdered.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose, leaning on the banister of the upstairs porch. From here she can see the ocean, just a five minute walk away, and she breathes in brine soaked air.

“He’s still coming?”

“What do you mean if he’s still coming? He didn’t say anything otherwise.”

She shifts from foot to foot, feeling herself colour slightly even though there’s no one there to see her. “I just assumed that because you and Miller couldn’t make it up anymore he wouldn’t come today.”

“Why the hell did you think that?”

“Because Bellamy and I aren’t exactly friends, Raven,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “We barely even know each other. We’ve met like maybe four times since he moved to town and during one of those times we argued about Harry Potter.”

“You’re telling me you can’t make a friendship out of a screaming match in front of Dripship over which Harry Potter movie was the worst?” she asks dryly.

“The answer is Order of the Phoenix and no, no I can’t.”

“Well I think you should,” she sniffs. “The two of you would get along like a house on fire. And besides, most of your friendships are unconventional anyway. You became friends with Monty because he tried to sell you weed in the quad while you were running to your 9 a.m. class, remember?”

“I still maintain that I would have become friends with him either way when we met at the LGBT mixer a few days after.”

“You ditched that mixer to go smoke with him and Jasper on the roof, Clarke,” Raven says, flat. “Face it, Bellamy would be like… the most conventional friendship you’d have.” And yeah okay, she’s got her there.

Bellamy Blake moved to Arkadia just about three months ago and seemed to know almost all of her friends and then some. She’s heard about him from both Raven and Miller in passing of course, and has seen a few pictures from their college days, but she’s never met the guy until then.

At first Clarke was more than eager to get to know him- perhaps maybe even in the biblical sense if she got so lucky- because he seemed like a cool guy with nice arms and stupidly amazing hair and was really just super attractive on the whole.

And then he opened his mouth and she realised that he was just so  _ wrong  _ about  _ everything _ .

(Well, he had good opinions about the big things, but Clarke honestly couldn’t be expected to get along with a guy who can’t even sit through a game of soccer and thinks coffee is  _ gross _ . It just was not done.)

“We’d probably murder each other,” she ends up saying. “Congrats, you’ve found the prospective axe murderer in this case. Now all you need is the room where it happens and boom, you win Clue.”

“Wow, you’re so funny.”

“I like to think I am,” she agrees brightly, completely ignoring her sarcastic tone.

“Look, I’m willing to bet you real, actual money that by the time we all get there, you and Bellamy would be friends,” she says, firm.

Clarke gnaws her bottom lip. “I don’t know Raven, maybe you should call him and tell him that we’re moving it up a week. I’ll be fine by myself. Who knows, maybe the change of scenery will help me crank out my pieces faster.”

“Would you relax already?” she sighs, “You and Bellamy are adults. I’m sure you can handle each other for a couple of days okay? And in the event that you somehow do get axe murdered, I’ll avenge you.”

“Thanks.”

“What are friends for.” There’s a sudden burst of voices on the other end wherein Raven replies with something unintelligible before getting back to her. “Alright, I gotta get back to work. Take care. Text me when Bellamy gets there so I know that your chances of getting sucked into your own personal Stephen King novel decreases.”

They exchange goodbyes and the line goes dead, leaving her with nothing but her thoughts and the company of the ocean.

She goes about getting the rest of the house ready, spreading clean linens on all of the beds and using almost an entire bottle of febreeze to chase out the musty air. She’s hauling in the few bags of groceries she brought with her- she’s going to have to head into town tomorrow to get some more things- when her phone buzzes in her pocket with a text.

**Bellamy** : _ about an hour away. please respond so i can let raven know that you’re not dead. _

She makes a face at the phone before tapping out her response.

**Clarke** :  _ you can tell raven that i have a phone _

**Bellamy** : _ hey don’t shoot the messenger i’m just listening to orders _

**Clarke** :  _ yeah well i’m fine _

**Bellamy** : _ good to know princess. see you in a few. _

She’s out on the deck working on a rough draft for one of her clients when Bellamy finally arrives. She doesn’t really notice at first; the deck is towards the back and she has her earbuds in, concentrating on getting the piece done.

He leans down and pulls one of them free and she jerks up in surprise.

Bellamy Blake is still as unfairly attractive as the last time she saw him, wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a muscle tank with his aviators perched on the bridge of his nose as he smirks down at her.

“Front door unlocked, not paying attention to your surroundings,” he lists off, throwing an overly dramatic reprimanding look her way, “Honestly, it’s like you’re asking to get murdered.”

“I see Raven has let you in on her axe murderer rhetoric,” she says blandly, and his smirk softens a bit, edging towards a real smile.

“Yeah something like that. It was more like she doesn’t really trust you to sufficiently take care of yourself,” he says, shrugging slightly and tossing a lopsided grin her way. “Hey princess.”

“Bellamy,” she nods, unfurling her legs and standing up. “You got here okay?”

“Yeah, there was some traffic right before I had to turn off the freeway, but other than that it was alright.” He lets his eyes drift towards the ocean, and even from here she could spot the foam covered waves bobbing along. “Nice place.”

She feels her cheeks redden. “Thanks,” she says, and the word hangs heavily in the air for one awkward moment. She wants to curse Raven for putting her in this position, leaving her with a man she spends more time yelling with than talking to.

Clarke swallows heavily. “Uh, let me show you where the bedrooms are. You’ll have your own for now but when they others get here we’ll have to bunk. Where are your bags?”

“In my car. I also have some groceries if you want to lend me a hand?” he asks, even as he heads back through the house.

Her eyebrows furrow. “Groceries? Why?”

He stops for a moment and throws a teasing smile over his shoulder at her. “Raven said that I need to pick up sustenance for the two of us,” he tells her, “Because apparently you can’t be trusted around a stove.”

She purses her lips. “I brought my own food you know. I’m a big girl.”

He continues to grin, even as they make their way to the front, and he pops the trunk. “Raven also said to tell you that anything you have to just heat up in the microwave doesn’t constitute as real food.”

“I don’t need a babysitter you know.”

“I never said you do.”

“Then stop fucking acting like one.”

The smile slides off his face and his eyes harden. “It’s called being polite, princess,” he snaps, grabbing the last of the bags in his arms. “I’m just trying to be a good guest.”

“Well don’t,” she retorts sharply, “I don’t need you to pretend to be nice or whatever. Just be your normal, dickish self.”

“And you’ll continue to be all  _ mightier than thou _ , I assume?” he drawls, rolling his eyes.

“Just shut up, Bellamy.”

“Back atcha, Clarke,” he snipes, just to have the last word and she holds her tongue in a rare sign of maturity.

They’ve been together for barely ten minutes and they’ve already managed to piss the other off. It must be some kind of new record. She can’t imagine how the rest of the week is going to go.

They get the groceries packed with only minimal communication, and Bellamy says nothing for once when he finds her stock of Pop Tarts and microwavable pizzas. So okay, maybe Raven had a point about her not being the best in the kitchen but she’s fine. She survives. She doesn’t need  _ Bellamy Blake _ of all people criticising her eating habits. She might resort to tying two cinderblocks to his feet and dropping him in the ocean.

Afterwards, she shows him to the available rooms and says nothing when he locks himself in with a quiet snick.

It’s awkward between them and it’ll always be awkward between them because they’re both such stubborn, hard headed individuals. She honestly doesn’t know why she allowed herself to hope that things could change after Raven said they could be friends.

So she heads back out to the deck and spends the rest of the evening working on a book cover she was commissioned to do and tries her best to forget about Bellamy Blake.

It works for the most part, until he ruins it again by appearing in the doorway a couple hours later.

She pretends that she doesn’t notice him until he clears his throat.

“I made dinner,” he says, and she finally looks up.

“You didn’t have to,” she starts, and he holds up a hand to stop her right there.

“It’s just grilled chicken pasta, nothing fancy.”

“Still,” she says, worrying her lip, “Thanks.”

He ducks his head. “You’re welcome.”

Conversation is stilted over the course of dinner, but she notices that he tries to keep it going when the silence gets downright unbearable at times. He does clam up a little bit when she lets it slip that she actually owns the house, and she keeps her mouth shut every time ‘princess’ slips past his lips. It’s not the best but –

Well, at least he’s making an effort, and if he can do that, then so can she.

(She’s still thankful that he’s dropped the charade while they do the dishes together though. She’s not sure how much awkward small talk she can take before one of them inadvertently sticks a foot in their mouth.)

“There isn’t any wifi, but there’s tv and the beach, obviously,” she tells him as they both stop in front of their separate rooms. “Or you could head into town if you like, but I don’t really think there’s anything much to do there either.”

“I can entertain myself, princess,” he says, lips tipping up into a smirk, and she feels that familiar tug of annoyance.

“I’m just letting you know all you options,” she huffs.

“Right. Lemme guess, you want me to stay out of your way too,” he says, just a hint of derision creeping into his voice.

“Well it’s not like we’re friends,” she snaps. “You don’t need to pretend for my benefit.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe we  _ could  _ be?” he asks, and she stops, lingering in the doorway.

“Why?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Oh gee, I don’t know. Why would people want to become  _ friends  _ with someone, it’s obviously such a  _ novel  _ concept – ”

“I mean why  _ me _ , asshole,” she glares at him, and he just shrugs.

“Because you’re friends with all of my friends? Because when you’re not yelling at me for stupid things we share most of the same opinions? Because I think you could be cool if you stop being so uptight for one fucking minute?” He tilts his head to the side as he observes her. “Take your pick.”

Clarke shifts her weight awkwardly from foot to foot while under his scrutiny. “You yell at me for stupid shit too,” is all she comes up with.

His lips twitch. “I  _ tease  _ you about stupid shit,” he corrects her. “You’re the one who takes it next level.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s  _ true _ .”

“ _ Fine _ ,” she relents, “We can try. But only because we have to spend the next week or so with only each other as our company. I don’t make any promises to like you.”

A smirk grows on his face. “Whatever you say, princess,” he says, opening the door to his room. “Although I’ll have you know that I’m a very likable person.” And he winks at her before letting the door fall shut behind him, leaving Clarke gaping at it.

In the morning she groggily makes her way down to the kitchen to get started on breakfast, only to stop short at the sight of Bellamy already there puttering around in his pyjama pants.

_ Just  _ his pyjama pants.

It’s completely unfair that he’s such a dick but manages to look like _that_ _–_ all tanned skin and hard muscle and of course, the dusting of freckles over every square inch of him.

Jesus  _ fuck _ .

Clarke takes a deep, suddenly feeling very much awake, and finally makes her presence known.

“Morning,” she tells him, and his head snaps up, taken by surprise.

It doesn’t last long though, because then he’s smiling at her, an actual smile with teeth that shows off his laugh lines and it is  _ too fucking early _ for this.

God, she knows she agreed to be friends with him last night, but it was so much easier to ignore her want to jump his bones when they were glaring at each other.

“Hey,” he nods. “Uh, I made breakfast. Just some eggs and bacon with toast. You still have your Pop Tarts as an option of course.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “What, you’re not gonna criticise me for that?”

“Hey, if you wanna give yourself diabetes who am I to stop you?”

She just grunts in return and slips past him to make herself some coffee. It’s instant, because they don’t have a coffee maker at the house, and she’s surprised to find the seal intact.

“You don’t want any coffee?” she asks, glancing back at him. He’s settled by the table with his plate, still as shirtless as ever and, to make matters even worse, he’s popped on a pair of dark framed glasses as he reads the newspaper on his Kindle.

It’s like a scene out of some stupid wholesome living magazine a housewife would pick up at the checkout counter.

(And Clarke would very much like to  _ check him out _ .)

“I don’t drink coffee,” he says, lifting his mug sheepishly.

“Then what’s that?”

“Uh, cocoa?” he says, voice inflecting high on the end as a pinch of colour creeps into his cheeks. “Sometimes I drink tea too.”

She gapes at him for probably far too long and Bellamy tries his best to ignore her, but he can’t hide the red of his ears as he turns back to his screen.

“You’re weird,” she declares, stealing a slice of his toast off his plate because hey, they’re friends now, right?

Breakfast is, thankfully, a quiet affair, and she pretends to be overly engrossed in her eggs to avoid staring at him from up close.

It’s like he’s fucking  _ airbrushed _ , it’s absurd. And unfair considering that she looks like there’s something nesting in her hair and her pyjamas are more practical than sultry. They have  _ sheep  _ on them.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asks while she rinses the dishes.

“I might just stay here, work on a few projects,” she shrugs. “You can go down to the beach if you want though, it’s about five minutes from here.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says, “I should probably get some work done too. You’re an artist right?”

She nods. “Yeah. I’m doing the cover for some kids’ novel right now. I work with a bunch of small publishing companies.”

“That’s cool.”

Clarke squints at him. “Miller said you’re a teacher?”

“Yeah, I just recently got certified. It’s why I moved to Arkadia,” he explains, “I’ll be the new history teacher come September.”

“... Cool.”

Bellamy chuckles. “You’re terrible at making new friends, huh.”

She can feel herself begin to redden. “I just… don’t do it very often,” she says lamely.

Raven was right, most of her friendships were rather unconventional, and Clarke’s beginning to think that she didn’t know how to make friends the normal way.

“Yeah, I can believe that,” he snorts, drying the last plate before he puts it in the cupboard. “I have some lesson plans that I need to work on if you don’t mind me joining you in a bit.”

“I don’t.”

He ducks his head, smiling to himself. “Good. I’m just gonna head upstairs for a shower and I’ll meet you back here? On the deck?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she nods, and then watches as the muscles tense and flex in his back as he goes.

About an hour later the two of them are on the deck working on their various projects.

Well, Bellamy is, and Clarke is alternating between glaring at him and her canvas.

He’s not bad company, not really, he keeps mostly to himself and is pretty quiet but for some reason Clarke is so fucking in tune with him.

She can hear him humming off key under his breath, see his leg jiggling out of the side of her eye, and then there’s his stupid mouth, nibbling on the cap of his pen while he makes notes on his sheets.

He’s distracting her.

She could leave, but then he’d want to know why, and she doesn’t think that she can handle his stupid smug face when has to tell him that it’s he’s a distraction.

She’d either want to punch it or –

Something.

She’ll just leave it at something.

(Why is he so attractive?)

Without meaning to, she clicks on a new tab, opening a blank canvas, and, again without meaning to, starts sketching the planes of his face.

She ends up spending more time on that sketch, turning it into a full on piece, than her work, so much so that by the time they decide to break for lunch, she’s pretty much done with it.

Clarke wants to call Raven and tell her to get down here as soon as possible because she might end up going crazy, killing him, or –

Well,  _ something _ .

“So how’d you manage to own this place?” he asks while they eat, sitting on the barstools by the counter.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just lets her eyes linger on the framed photograph hanging on the wall behind him. She was eight in it, sandwiched between her parents on the beach and missing her front tooth. It feels like it was taken a lifetime ago.

“It’s a long story,” she says after a moment, and then chugs her iced tea to stop any further questions.

Much to her surprise, he doesn’t pry, just nods and goes with it. 

They spend the rest of the day lazing about, off to their own devices. Bellamy is reading by one of the big bay windows in front, and Clarke holes up in her room blasting cheesy 90s pop as she tries to finish a part of her piece.

Conversation flows better over dinner tonight than it did yesterday, and when they leave to go to bed, things feel far less awkward. 

The next day Bellamy tells her that they should head down to the beach because they’ve been here for almost two days and all they’ve done is hole up in the house.

She has to agree with him there.

So once the dishes are cleared she heads up to her room to change, hesitating a bit before pulling on the bikini Raven convinced her to buy a few months back, and throwing her cover up over it. She packs a beach bag too – just some sunblock, a mat, and a towel – and meets him out back.

“The first time I ever went to a beach I was eighteen,” he tells her as they walk down. He has one of those insulated bags slung over one shoulder and his own bag over the other. Apparently they were making a day trip out of the thing even though the house is right there.

She doesn’t burst his bubble though, and lets him carry enough food and beer for the two of them.

See? She’s getting better at this whole friend business.

“I’ve been coming here since I was born,” she replies, and looks down at the stone pathway instead of meeting his eyes. She can’t avoid talking about it forever and she knows soon Bellamy is generous in not pushing for more information. “I’ve always loved the beach. Even though I tend to get burned more often than not.”

He smirks. “Lemme guess, you’re one of those who end up turning red.”

“As a lobster,” she confirms, and he snickers. “Hey, I bet you turn into one ginormous freckle.”

“Yeah, but at least I don’t get  _ burned _ ,” he retorts. “Thank god for melanin.”

“Shut up.”

The beach isn’t overly crowded today. There are a few families dotted along the way, but it’s pretty clear for the most part. She knows that later in summer is when people start to flock towards the beaches and she’s glad they came up when they did.

Clarke hands him the sunblock while she sets them up in a nice, shady area, and she turns back to ask him if he brought any water when her mouth suddenly goes dry.

She was offered her first look at his chest yesterday at breakfast, but somehow it’s even  _ better  _ out here on the beach today. His hair is perfectly windswept and he’s wearing board shorts, concentrating as he rubs sunblock into his skin. He’s still stupidly muscled and tanned and there’s a fine trail of hair starting from his navel and leading down to –

She immediately snaps her eyes back up and Bellamy is already smirking at her. Dick.

“Alright, princess?” he asks in that stupid cocksure tone of his.

It makes her blush for some reason and she  _ swears  _ his smirk widens.

“I’m fine,” she says, glancing down at their mats. “Did you bring any water with you by chance? I’m feeling kind of thirsty.”

She’s almost certain he mutters ‘oh I’m sure you are,’ under his breath, but she can’t prove it.

Biting back a scathing retort she decides to show him that two can play at that game, waiting until he’s unscrewing the cap of it before she tugs off her cover up.

She hears him swear as he squeezes the bottle too tight and the cold water sloshes out onto him. Clarke bites back her own smirk and focuses on putting her shawl back into her tote.

When she straightens she notices as his eyes drop from her chest to look down at the sand and this time she really can’t help but feel a little bit smug.

She knows her breasts look good in this top, but it’s nice to know that Bellamy thinks so too.

“Alright, Bellamy?” she asks softly, trying her best to hide the teasing lilt to her voice.

“Oh yeah. I’m  _ great _ .”

“Good.”

“I think I’m gonna head into the water,” he tells her, and she just hums in reply, settling down to bask in the sunlight.

She does join him eventually of course, and then it’s a game of chicken to see who could catch the other being more obvious. Bellamy tackles her into the water, holding her to his very broad, very firm chest, with his fucking arms wrapped around her waist before throwing her under, and Clarke returns the favour by letting her tits brush up against his bicep under the pretense of reaching into the cooler and it makes him spill beer on his lap.

(She considers leaning over and helping him… clean it up, but figures that might be taking things a bit too far.)

(She does think about it though, and hopes he doesn’t notice how she clenches her thighs together.)

It’s fun though, and they’re both giggling, drunk on sun and cheap beer as they walk back together, side by side.

“Rinse off down here before heading inside,” she tells him, and the two of them share the lonesome pipe outside, ducking under the stream to wash the salt and sand off their skins.

His eyes darken and linger when she slips her fingers beneath the cups of her bikini top to rinse out the sand, and yeah, today was fun.

And tiring it seems considering they both wake up after eleven the next morning.

They mostly laze around the house doing nothing. Clarke is actually using her sketchbook for once instead of her drawing tablet, doing a quick landscape of the seaside.

Bellamy is there with here, though he’s mostly scouring through the shelves, going through her dad’s collection of old thriller novels and western DVDs.

He keeps up a steady stream of chatter, but this time she’s able to mostly tune it out as she works.

It’s nice though, knowing that he’s there even though he fades into the background with everything else. It’s nice that he’s her – friend.

She bites down on her lip as she glances at him, holding a worn paperback and reading the synopsis. His glasses are sliding down his nose but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. It’s cute, really.

It’s odd to have slipped into a friendship with him so easily.

Just as the thought hits her, he asks, “Is that your dad?” while squinting at the picture.

Clarke sighs and set her sketchpad down. It was only inevitable.

“Yeah,” she says without looking. All the picture in this house are family ones. She slides off the stool and pads over.

The one in question that he’s looking at is from her high school graduation. It was a few months after the divorce, and maybe just two before he was accused and thrown in jail. They looked happy in it, Jake with a his arm around her shoulder and her face mostly obscured by the bouquet he brought her. She thinks that she still has some of the peonies pressed between old AP textbooks back in her apartment.

Her heart pangs.

“What – ”

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” she suggests, cutting him off. If he’s going to make her say it then she might as well have something to help distract her from all the baggage that comes with.

Bellamy regards her quizzically but nods anyway, and doesn’t say anything when she grabs the bottle of rum off the counter.

It’s overcast today, and the wind is strong, whipping sea spray directly at their faces. He doesn’t say anything the whole time they’re walking and even when they stop, find a sheltered spot to sit, he’s still quiet.

They both just stare out at the ocean, no more than six inches of space between them. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that the silence between them is now comforting instead of unbearable.

It’s nice.

_ Bellamy  _ is nice.

“The house was my dad’s,” she says after a while, eyes trained on the horizon. The beach is mostly empty today from what she saw back up at the house, and the seas look choppy, rough, looking like what she imagines her emotions might be whenever she talks about her dad.

“It was in his family for a while, but he really fixed it up, y’know? Modernised it and shit. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t a privileged little rich girl growing up, because I was, but this house was my dad’s baby and whenever we came out here it was like everything was right.”

Clarke reaches out and takes the bottle from him, and winces as the rum burns its way down her throat. “My mom…” she hesitates for a moment before taking another pull and plowing on, “I used to think that my mom valued her job more than her family– I still do, if I’m being honest–  but when we were here I could pretend that they were happy together, y’know.”

She takes another drink. “That didn’t matter in the end because they still got divorced and he came to live out here, and then if that wasn’t enough, she got him thrown in jail for something that he never fucking did and he died.” She has to stop herself there, blinking back tears as she swallows around the tightness in her throat. Something nudges her hand and when she looks down it’s his hand, lying next to hers in the sand.

There’s a slight moment of hesitation on her part but then she’s linking their pinkies together, the two of them staring off at the ocean before them.

“Anyway, my dad died and left everything to me even though I was only nineteen and– god, this is gonna sound so bad but, I wasn’t talking to my mom, I didn’t want anything to do with her, but she was still paying for me to go to school at the time, she was giving me an allowance, and she was paying to keep the house maintained.

“Even now, when we have almost no contact at all, she still pays to make sure the plants are always watered and the inside is always clean. It’s like she feels as though if she throws enough money at this problem it’ll go away.”

She pulls the worn flannel shirt tighter around her shoulders, suddenly feeling cold. “So yeah,” she shrugs, picking at the label on the bottle. “That’s my sob story.”

For a moment, Bellamy says nothing, and then –

“My mom died when I was twenty.” She can feel the slight tremor the runs through his body through that one spot where they touched. “She didn’t– I can’t say that she was a good mom because honestly? She wasn’t. But she tried to be for me and my… for me and Octavia. We were poor as shit,” he tells her with a sardonic smile tugging at his mouth. “She worked three different jobs and half her money was split between the bills and the other half towards her addiction.”

He stops to take the bottle from her, taking a swig, and she can see his jaw work as he considers his next words. “I had a younger sister, Octavia,” he says, and the words come out funny for some reason. “Since I was six I was babysitting her while mom worked. When I was twelve I got my own job and still had to watch her while managing my schoolwork. It was a lot,” he tacks on after a beat.

“Anyway, things were pretty okay for the last two years or so before everything went to shit again. Mom managed to quit and was going to rehab, she got a better job and only had to work two now, and somehow I managed to get into college without killing myself with loans. And then she went to the doctor one day because of some weird pain she was feeling and the next thing you know we’re being told that she has cancer. Late stage, terminal, wouldn’t last until Christmas. And there was nothing left for us to do.”

He shudders again, and this time Clarke is the one flipping the hands over so that they’re more properly intertwined. He grips onto it like a lifeline, and she wonders if he can feel how hard her heart is beating through the spot where they touched.

“They couldn’t do anything to save her and it was either pull the plug then or have her waste away for the next four months in a hospital room we couldn’t afford. Obviously you know which one we went with once all the legal docs were sorted out. Everything was transferred over into my name, I dropped out of college after my second year, and then I had a fourteen year old dependent who… wasn’t happy to say the least, but we managed. She was always– angry I guess? But I got her through high school and into an okay-ish college.

“Anyway thing with my sister has always been pretty rough but I thought we were doing okay, y’know? I thought after the first couple of years she finally settled down. I did– I sacrificed everything for her, taking night classes while paying for her to go to an actual college, making sure she always had money in her bank account, food, clothes… and then the day after she graduated she comes up to me and says she’s moving across the country to live with some guy who raises sheep for a living in a week because now she can ‘finally live her life the way she wants’ or something like that, and was acting like I was the one who was keeping her from doing what she wanted the entire time.”

Bellamy winces and takes another healthy sip from the bottle. “I guess I could have handled it better but we got into an argument and like I said, she’s always been angry, so I ended up going to the ER for a fractured wrist but it’s fine, I was fine, and when I got hom a few hours later all her stuff was gone.”

“That’s not fine, Bellamy,” she says, her voice low, skin feeling tight because of the surprising burst of anger beneath it.

“She’s my sister,” is all he says, and the worst part is that he really does think it’s fine. “Anyway, she’s been gone for over a year now and I haven’t heard a single word about her or from her or… anything really.”

He drains the last bit from the bottle and sets it haphazardly on the sand where it wobbles for a moment before landing on it’s side.

“Still,” she says, trying to figure out how to explain it to him. “It doesn’t matter if she’s your sister, that’s fucked up.”

“Your mom got your dad sent to prison where he died,” he shoots back at her, though not unkindly. “ _ That’s _ fucked up.”

She purses her lips. “Well, we’ve both had fucked up things happen to us,” she allows, “But the important thing is that we grew from it.”

Bellamy snorts. “Nice. Where’d you get that from? A fortune cookie?”

Her lips thin into one line. “From a therapist I went to actually,” she says, and it just makes him snort again.

“Should’ve just gotten a basket of fortune cookies and saved your money.”

“That’s not a good way to handle things, Bella-”

He shushes her. “Shut up and look at the sunset, princess. It’s pink.” He lies down just like that on the sand, uncaring if he gets it down his back and in his hair.

“You’re drunk, huh.”

“Pink skies, princess. Look at it.”

He doesn’t want to talk about his childhood trauma anymore which she can understand. She doesn’t want to either, so she humours him, shrugging off here flannel and gingerly spreading it out behind her before lying back.

“I can’t carry you back if you pass out,” she warns him, and he just shushes her again.

Somehow their hands end up linked back together again, laying on sand between them, and she doesn’t know how it got there.

The heaviness associated with alcohol sets itself in her bones soon after and she realises that she doesn’t  _ care  _ how it got there either. Instead she relaxes and looks up at the sky with him.

He was right, it was pink, with streaks of purple and gold and she wishes she had her sketchpad here with her to draw. Instead she just snaps a series of blurry pictures on her phone and watches until it goes dark.

Or at least she thought that she watched until it grew dark.

Instead it turns out that they  _ both  _ passed out in the shade only to wake up a couple hours later to a starless night.

It looks like it was going to rain.

Clarke groans as she rolls onto her side and pries her hand out of his.

“Wake up,” she groans, prodding his ribs.

Bellamy just groans.

“Wake  _ up _ ,” she says, louder this time. “Come on Bellamy, let’s go inside. Where you, you know,  _ have a bed _ .” She pinches the soft skin of his bicep.

“Ugh,” he groans, sitting up and squinting at the darkness around him. “What – ”

“We got drunk and passed out on the beach,” she says, flat.

“Fucking hell, this didn’t even happen that one time I went on spring break.”

“You’re getting old,” she says, and helps him up. According to his watch they’ve only been out for maybe hour or so, which isn’t that bad, but she can already feel the impending hangover looming over her head.

“We’re gonna regret this tomorrow, aren’t we,” he sighs, running a hand through his mussed up curls.

“Definitely,” she agrees, and if she leans into him the walk back to the house, well, it’s only because they’re both drunk.

The hangover isn’t overly terrible the next morning though, a fact which she attributes to downing about three glasses of water and some Advil as soon as they got back. She still does feel a bit queasy, and considering Bellamy didn’t cook anything for breakfast, he probably feels the same way.

Still though, she doesn’t feel up to doing anything today which is good considering that the clouds that were gathering last night have broken open into a storm.

So she pulls on a pair of flannel pyjama shorts and a baggy t shirt once she starts feeling human again around noon and trudges down to the den after making some popcorn to look for something to watch.

It’s only fitting that she lands on a Harry Potter marathon, and a grin tugs at her lips.

She finds Bellamy out on the deck, book in hand, as the storm swirls around them. The wind immediately tugs at her hair and she can hear the roar of the ocean as the storm surges crash against the shore. Even amidst all of this, he still seems content, almost at peace with the chaos.

It’s an oxymoron to say the least.

She has to rap sharply against his armrest to gain his attention and he looks up, blinking owlishly behind his glasses before flashing her a sheepish smile. She tries not to think about how it makes him look years younger and instead holds up the bottle she grabbed from the kitchen.

“There’s a Harry Potter marathon going on right now. I figured we could make a game out of it.”

“I don’t think I want to see alcohol for the next week,” he tells her, and she snorts.

“Baby,” she says, and then shakes the bottle in front of him. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she tries again before adding, “Unless you’re too busy with your book of course.”

Bellamy stands, stretches his arms over his head, allowing her a glimpse of his toned stomach. He’s still wearing the threadbare t shirt from earlier, and a pair of soft grey sweatpants with his hair messier than usual from the wind. It all makes her just want to slide into his lap and kiss him until their lips go numb.

“Nah, I’ve read it too many times to count,” he says, flipping the cover towards her and smirking when she pulls a face.

“You brought Ovid on a vacation? Seriously?”

“It’s fun, I like it.”

“It’s  _ gross _ .”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “You were saying something about a drinking game? You do realise it’s only eleven right? It’s day time.”

“Day drinking is appropriate when you’re on vacation,” she says firmly and he snorts.

“Well I can’t argue much there.”

He follows her back inside, sliding the door shut the moment a crack of thunder causes the window frames to shake. The ending of the fourth movie is playing out on screen and she’s already popped a bowl of popcorn to share.

“I take it we’re watching your least favourite first?” he asks, settling down on the couch.

She throws herself in the empty spot next to him and wraps a soft blanket around her shoulders. “You and I both know that deep down you agree with me.”

“You and I both know that  _ the last two _ were the worst,” he corrects her, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “It’s time to face the facts, princess.”

“They were only the worst because they messed up Order of the Phoenix-”

“Shh,” he grins, taking the bottle of wine from her. He pries the cork off with his teeth and she tries not to stare too much. “Movie’s starting.”

It turns out to be surprisingly fun, poking at the glaring holes and mistakes with Bellamy. They tried to come up with a drinking game, but then it just devolved into passing the bottle back and forth between them. Each time she takes a swig she finds herself staring at his profile longer and longer.

She wonders if she could draw him, if it was possible to capture the sharp edge of his jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the motherfucking  _ freckles _ , on paper. It doesn’t help that she still keeps getting distracted by his mouth, full lips with a smile teasing the corners of them, and she wants to lean up and taste them, slide into his lap until they both melt together.

It’s not like she didn’t think he was hot before, because really, he was, but now she  _ knows  _ him, knows his likes and dislikes and all the different parts of him, and she just really wants to kiss him.

She should probably stop drinking before she does something stupid.

Instead they end up opening a second bottle of wine right around the time they characters leave to go to the Ministry and she finds herself paying more attention to the bob of his throat than the curses flying across the screen.

Somehow they switch from earnest conversation and lighthearted jeers at the tv, to a game of truth or dare, right around the the start of the sixth movie. It starts off fairly innocent– they do mostly truths, and basic ones at that, but she does get dared by him to chug the last bit of wine.

They’re not  _ really  _ drunk, but the alcohol does help loosen up their muscles  _ and  _ their tongues, sending the game dirty.

“I can’t believe you had sex on a  _ roof _ ,” she guffaws, feeling her sides hurt from laughing so much. “And that you got caught by your elderly neighbour.”

“How was I supposed to know that she comes up there to smoke?” he defends himself, but he’s laughing too. “There are fire escapes for a reason. She either saw us heading up and decided to be nosey, or she climbs three flights of stair everyday just for cigarette.” 

They break out into hysterics again, and she feels warm all over, content.

“Alright I got one,” Clarke says after she’s calmed down a bit, giving him an appraising look. She’s spread out across the sofa, her legs strewn over his lap, and he has his hands resting on them. “Last time you got off.”

Bellamy pauses. “By myself or with company?” he asks carefully.

Clarke considers it for a moment. “Both,” she decides and his grin turns wicked.

“Well, with company was about three months ago,” he says easily, trailing a finger over her ankle. She has to repress a shiver. “And by myself was two nights ago.”

Her eyes snap back up to his only to find them dark and wanting, and this time she does nothing to stop the little frisson that runs down her back. “Hmm,” is all she says, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. “What were you thinking about?”

“I thought it was my turn?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Humour me.”

He continues the oh so distracting motion of tracing patterns into her skin, and she wonders if he would notice if she clenched her thighs together to alleviate the need building there. He probably would, and for some reason it just makes her feel even warmer.

“You in that tiny, little bikini you wore a few days ago,” he says unabashedly, and she already figured as much but shit, it’s hot to actually hear him say it.

Bellamy licks his lips and she lets her eyes follow the drag of his tongue, leaving it pink and glistening before he flashes her that boyish grin. “Your tits are something else, Clarke.”

She tries not to preen too much but can’t help herself. “So I’ve been told,” she smirks at him. “Do they get a gold star?”

“Several,” he quips in return and they both chuckle.

“What about you princess?” he asks.

“I don’t remember choosing truth or dare,” she says, and he snorts.

“Humour me,” he teases.

“Last time I got laid was about two months ago. By myself was the night before I drove up here.” His fingers continue trailing distractedly over her skin, from ankle over calf to kneecap and then repeating the circuit all over again.

“Only?”

“Well it’s not like I brought my vibrator along for a vacation with my friends.”

He squeezes the muscle in her calf again and she jerks her foot, hitting his inner thigh. “You have hands.”

“I thought I was supposed to say that to you.”

“Oh princess,” he grins as his hand drifts further up her leg, “I mostly certainly do. Want me to help you out?”

At this point she’s almost sitting straight up- ever since he started touching her every nerve ending has been on fire- and all she can manage to say is, “Please.”

It’s not how she imagined her hook up with Bellamy Blake going this week- and yes, she has imagined it, ever since she saw him on the beach, soaking wet in just his pair of boardshorts- but she’s in no position to complain, not when he’s leaning over her like that, eyes dark and intense.

His mouth stops just shy of hers and one of his hands come up to caress her jaw, his thumb trailing over her bottom lip and she goddamn near  _ whimpers _ .

When he finally does kiss her, it’s surprisingly soft and tooth achingly sweet, so much so that she almost laughs in his mouth while he gently strokes her cheek.

“Bellamy,” she giggles, shifting back and causing his next kiss to land slightly off centre, “I’m not made of glass you know.”

His hand trails down to her neck, lifting her chin up. “I know.”

“The kiss me  _ properly _ , damn-”

He cuts her off with a squeak, surging forward, and  _ this _ , this is the kiss she imagined whenever she lets her mind wander. It’s all raw passion, hot and all consuming, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, tongue slipping into her mouth went she sighs with it. His hands are all over, roaming over her arms, her waist, her back, and hers are rucking up his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.

The whole thing leaves her giddy,  _ wanting _ , especially when he nips at her jaw, and she tells him as much. His eyes glint wickedly and she doesn’t have time to ask him anything before suddenly he’s lifting her.

She shrieks when he hooks his arms under her legs, scooping her up in one fluid motion, and grapples at his shoulders. His laughter vibrates against her chest and she swats him gently.

“What are you doing, you caveman?” she huffs, squirming against his hold.

“I’m trying to get us upstairs where the condoms are, but  _ someone  _ is making that difficult,” he grumbles, pinching her ass in retaliation.

Clarke manages to wiggle out of his grasp and he harrumphs, coming to stop. “I have some in my purse down here,” she tells him, leaning up to kiss him again. “But that can wait until later.” Her hands flirt with the hem of his t shirt and he gets the message, pulling it off in one fluid motion. She does the same and his eyes immediately fall to her breasts. He licks his lips again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice going low as he gets his hands on her tits. She lets out a breathy moan when he squeezes it through the cup. “Yeah okay, condoms can wait a bit.”

They end up on the couch again, both shirtless and Bellamy reaches around her to unhook her bra. He covers them in sloppy, wet kisses, letting his tongue curl around the nipple and his teeth peek out to play from time to time while his hand keeps the other one company.

She’s gasping and moaning, hips bucking against his in search of friction because she’s  _ so fucking wet _ .

“Come  _ on _ , Bellamy,” she groans, linking her fingers through his belt loops and grinding up against him. He’s hard and hot through his sweatpants and her cunt throbs with the need to have him in her.

He chuckles against her sternum, holding her leg out so he can grind into her, slower this time, but in a way that has her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Patience has never been your strong suit, huh princess?” he asks, kissing down her chest and stomach, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton and letting blunt teeth nibble at the slight swell of her tummy.

Her hand finds itself in his hair when he kneels between her legs, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” he asks, snapping the waistband of her shorts. “Get rid of them.”

Clarke makes a face at him but she’s quickly lifting her hips and kicking both her pants and underwear off, and then he’s running a teasing finger through her folds causing her to buck up and whimper.

“Easy babe,” he soothes, her, petting a hand down her hip. “I got you.”

He manoeuvers a leg over his shoulder, putting his mouth directly in line with her cunt, and for a moment she just watches him, cataloguing the pretty picture he makes with his head between her things.

And then he’s licking into her, causing her head to drop back against the couch cushions with a broken moan as he finds her clit, sucking it gently into his mouth. He lets his hands get involved too, alternating between broad licks up her entire slit while he holds her open and fucking her with his tongue as he rubs his thumb unforgivingly against her clit. The hand in his hair tightens the closer she gets to her release, and she finds herself grinding on his face unashamedly as she chases it. He just grunts, repositioning her slightly so she has more leverage, and then all her muscles tighten, her orgasm exploding over her as she chants his name over and over.

Fuck, he’s even  _ better  _ than she imagined he would be at that.

His mouth and chin are wet with her when he stands up but that doesn’t stop her from pulling him down for a sloppy kiss.

“Purse is in the kitchen,” she pants once they’ve separated, “Go get it.”

“Me? Do you seriously think I can find anything in there?” he asks, even as he pulls away from her.

“My legs don’t work right now,” she tells him, still feeling the tingling in her fingers and toes. She’s pretty sure her muscles have turned to jelly and if she tried to stand she would just collapse on to the floor. He looks impossibly smug at that and she narrows her eyes, slapping his ass. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs, kissing her again.

“You didn’t have to; it was all over your face.”

“You know, most people are far happier after a good orgasm.”

“Yeah, yeah. Make yourself useful and go fetch the condoms.”

He rubs his nose against her cheek, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Yes ma’am,” he says before pushing off her to head out of the room.

She’s managed to catch her breath by the time he’s returned, he entire purse in tow, and she snorts.

“So helpful,” she tells him when he sets it down on the coffee table, and he gropes in her response.

“You can’t seriously expect me to find anything in your Mary Poppins bag, right?”

“You’re useless,” she announces, scooting forward so she can dig around. “Get naked in the meantime.”

“Bossy,” he tosses back at her.

“I just know what I want,” she corrects him. “And that’s you.”

His eyes go soft at that, smile turning dopey, and he presses a smacking kiss to her temple before working the knot on his sweatpants and pushing them off. Out of the corner of her eye she can see his dick, hard and ready, and he slides a hand down his length while he waits on her. It makes her cunt clench in desire and she hurries the search through her bag.

“Aha!” she crows in delight when she finally finds the foil wrapper. She checks the expiration date before slapping it against his chest.

“I wanna be on top,” she tells him as he rolls it on, and he just quirks an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch as she climbs into his lap.

“Bossy,” he mumbles again, though there’s a hitch in his breath when she starts rubbing herself on him, getting ready.

“You like it,” she says, and he catches her jaw, pulling her close until her forehead is resting against his.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbles, as she lines him up, and then kisses her, just as gentle and sweet as the first time.

They both sigh when she finally sinks down on him and she takes a second, relishing in the sweet fullness before she starts to move.

Clarke takes it slow at first, just rocking and swivelling her hips back and forth, but then he shifts, his hips flexing upward for just a second, and  _ that _ , that makes her light up all over.

“Fuck,” she breathes, grabbing onto his shoulder and rising up only to drop back down on his dick. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

“Shit, Clarke,” he chokes out, hands sliding under her thighs, over her ass and squeezing it. It gets another whimper out of her, this one high in her throat, and she clenches down on him. “God, babe.”

Their rhythm gets sloppier, and one of his hands find the ends of her hair, tangling in it and pulling her head back to expose the column of her neck for him to cover in wet kisses. It’s messy and frantic, but  _ fuck _ , it’s so good, Bellamy is so good, and she whimpers again when he bites down on her pulse point.

His grip on her hips turn mean the closer they get, and she doesn’t even know who’s fucking who anymore, his hips snapping up each time she bears down on him, dragging against  _ that  _ spot, the one that makes her see white, each time.

“Bellamy,” she groans, feeling herself teetering on the edge. “ _ Bellamy _ .”

“Yeah?” he says, mouth against her chest as he pants. He wriggles a hand between their bodies to rub tight circles fast on her clit and her breath stutters in her chest. “Come on, Clarke,  _ come on _ .”

She swears again, this time louder and more broken, and then after sliding down once, twice, she comes with a high pitched mewl. He follows straight after, holding her hips tight as he thrusts into her one last time, letting her still trembling walls milk him for all he’s worth as he groans low and helpless.

Clarke sags against him, completely blissed out and contented, and feels the barest brush of his lips on her shoulders.

It’s quiet as they both catch their breath, she knows that they’ll have to get up soon, but in the meantime she buries her face in his neck and breathes him in, all sea and sun and Bellamy.

“Well that was fun,” she says after they’ve both cooled down, “Good way to pass time.” She slides off of him so that he could dispose of the condom. He flops back down on the couch afterwards, naked as he came, and somewhere in the back of her mind she makes note to clean the couch before the others get here.

For now though she lets herself snuggle into his side and Bellamy wraps an arm around her, kissing her hair.

“We should do that again soon,” he replies, and she finds herself giggling.

“We definitely should,” she agrees, trailing her fingers over his abs, and he flexes for her benefit. They’re even more amazing up close and she makes a mental note to spend more time appreciating them next time they do this.

But for now, she just clears her throat and adds on, casually, “We should do other things too. Y’know, like maybe going out sometime?”

She close enough that she could hear the hitch in his breath at her question, and doesn’t dare look up at his face while she waits on his answer. Instead she focuses on their hands, which have somehow become tangled together.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice deliberately light, “Are you sure?”

She manages a half shrug. “Well I didn’t like you at first, that’s no secret,” she allows, gnawing at her bottom lip. “But — you’re not nearly half the ass I thought you were.”

He nuzzles the top of her head and there’s a smile in his voice when he says, “Oh, I’m still  _ half  _ an ass, huh?”

“Oh definitely,” she nods, turning to face him. They’re so close that she can see each individual freckle on his face and she impulsively leans forward to kiss him, soft and slow in a way that leaves her melting.

“I’m into though. Somehow,” she says softly, and his grin is bright and crooked as he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back and asks, “So, you wanna go on a date?”

“I should warn you,” he says, eyes glittering, “I don’t put out on a first date,” and she barks out a rather unladylike laugh, trailing a hand down his very naked torso.

“I think I’ll live,” she says drolly.

He brushes the hair out of her face. “I wanted to date you since before I met you at that party Miller threw for me when I first moved here,” he tells her, and she tries not to let the surprise show on her face, but must’ve failed as he chuckles lightly. “Actually, I don’t think date is the right word here. I wanted to ah,  _ get to know you _ .” He smirks. “You were the loud blonde dominating beer pong in the corner and I was pretty sure that tank top you were wearing was crafted by the devil himself.”

The hand around her shoulders stretches down to flick her nipple and his smirk widens. “Of course, then I actually met you,” he says offhandedly.

“And then you said to yourself, ‘ _ phew, thank god I passed on that one _ ’ right?” she says, grinning as she pokes him in the side.

His face softens. “Actually no,” he says, ducking his head shyly, “I met you and then decided that I wanted to  _ date  _ you. After I got to know you a little bit better of course.”

Clarke gapes at him. “You met me like three times after that and all we did was argue!” she accuses him, and he just grins sheepishly.

“Yeah but in my defence that  _ did  _ lead to me getting to know you better,” he says, “I learnt that you were super passionate about the things you believed in and, well.” He cocks his head to the side, still grinning at her. “You’re kinda hot when you’re angry.”

Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly a few more times before she finally settles on narrowing her eyes and saying, “I take it back. You’re still a  _ whole  _ ass.”

It just makes his smile widen. “Yeah, but you still like me. You wanna  _ date  _ me, you wanna  _ kiss  _ me, you wanna  _ hug  _ me—”

“Oh my god,  _ stop _ .”

“—wanna  _ hold  _ me, you wanna  _ love  _ me, you wanna- mmph.” He gets cut off in the middle of his spiel when she clamps a hand over his mouth.

Of course, it doesn’t last long as he actually angles his head and licks at her palm, causing her to shriek.

“Ugh, cooties,” she grumbles, wiping it off on his leg.

He lifts an eyebrow, looking back and forth at their naked forms. “I think it’s a little too late to worry about that, don’t you?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I need a shower. Maybe since I’ve caught it early enough I can stop it from thoroughly infecting me.”

Bellamy catches her hand as she stands up and presses it to his chest, as he regards her with an overly dramatic lovestruck look. “It’s too late for me I’m afraid,” he sighs out, “I’m level critical.”

She bites back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it,” he grins, pressing a kiss to her fingertips.

For some reason it causes her cheeks to warm. “Yeah, well. Ridiculousness and cheese tend to pair well together,” she tells him, and then tugs on his hand to pull him up. “Come on. Shower.”

They end up fooling around in the shower until the water goes cold, and then after she pushes him down on the bed and  _ finally  _ gets up close and personal with his abs, teasing him until she’s not sure if it’s sweat or water from the shower causing his curls to stick to his forehead. She takes pity on him them, when his jaw his hanging open slightly as he pants, taking him into her mouth.

His hands tangle in her hair and Bellamy can’t stop talking, praising her, and she has to slide her own hand between her thighs. He comes almost as soon as he notices this of course, and then pulls her up to perch precariously on his knees as he replaces her hand with his and lets her fuck herself on his fingers until she’s shaking.

They fall asleep on damp sheets despite it only being five in the afternoon, and when they wake up, it’s dark out.

Bellamy makes them grilled cheese sandwiches with the cocoa he brought with him and later Clarke licks the sweetness off his tongue, the two of them just making out until their lips go numb.

In the morning she wakes up before him for once, and lets her fingers trace over the freckles on his cheeks. It wakes him up of course, but he stays very, very still until she’s finished before grabbing her around the waist and kissing her.

“I think we should go on our date today,” she tells him when they finally part and she’s lying on his chest.

“What do you wanna do?”

That catches her because as much as she loves the small little seaside town, there isn’t really  _ much  _ for them to do, seeing as they’ve done most of the touristy activities already.

She scrunches up her nose. “I think there’s a museum about an hour’s drive from here?” she says, wracking her brain. “Either that, or an aquarium. All I remember is that it was educational.”

“Museums and aquariums are two very different things,” he says, amused, and she huffs as she rolls away to grab her phone off the nightstand to check.

“They’re both filled with things you can only look at and not touch,” she shoots back, just to be contrary as she unlocks it. At the very top of her notifications are several messages from Raven and Wells and a wry smile tugs at her lips.

“Alright, let’s do neither of those,” she says, holding up her phone for him. He has to squint without his glasses and she has to stop herself from telling him that he looks adorable. “Looks like the others are gonna be here a day earlier than planned so. Grocery store date?”

Bellamy snorts. “Oh yeah, arguing with me over name brand or generic. Awesome first date idea.”

She leans over and pecks him, just because. “Well, we’ve already established arguing as our  _ thing _ ,” she says with a grin, and he smiles back at her, showing off a row of straight and white teeth.

“As long as you don’t try to pull me between the cereal boxes to have your way with me,” he tells her as he gets out of bed and stretches. He notices her staring at the way his muscles shift and move beneath his skin and just like yesterday on the couch, he flexes for her. Ass.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” she says drily, rolling her eyes.

Bellamy gets started on breakfast while she showers and gets dressed, and by the time she gets down he already has a plate of eggs and bacon set on the table and is placing the toast on it. He didn’t brew her any coffee of course, and winks at her over the top of his hot chocolate.

“We’ll turn you into a coffee drinker soon, just you wait,” she says, leaning up to get the jar of instant she brought along with her in lieu of there not being a Keurig at the house.

“Not a fucking chance,” he tells her brightly and she flips him off behind her back. He tries to throw his balled up napkin at her but misses, landing somewhere between the cupboards and fridge and she boos while he grumbles and picks it up.

He’s done eating by the time she settles in with her steaming hot mug, and when he leans over to kiss her before heading off to shower, he tastes sweet which, alright,  _ maybe  _ she can get behind the whole hot chocolate in the morning instead of coffee.

(Still, she’s determined to turn him into a mocha drinker at the very least. Relationships are all about compromise, right?)

Bellamy comes down dressed and ready for the day as soon as she places the last plate on the drying rack.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah, lemme just get my purse,” she says, and then bites back a laugh at the way his eyes darken just a smidge at that.

“You are so easy,” she teases him as they get into his car.

He doesn’t deny it. “That purse has some good memories for me now,” he tells her, and she snorts, shoving his shoulder. “Hey, watch it, I’m driving here,” he protests, glancing sidelong at her, “I don’t think you want me to run someone over on our first date.”

“Accidental vehicular manslaughter, the way to every girl’s heart.”

“You know it.”

Clarke turns her head towards the window but can’t quite hide her smile. She likes that nothing has changed between them despite the mutual agreement to pursue a relationship. She likes that she can hold his hand, play with his fingers, lean into his side while they walk and still find a way to bicker over trivial matters. She likes that they can argue over which brand of toilet paper to get and then sneak kisses from each other two lanes over while picking up more bread.

She likes  _ Bellamy _ , her  _ boyfriend _ .

The thought makes her stupidly happy, perhaps more than it should, but she doesn’t care.

The rest of the day is spent unpacking groceries and cleaning the house before the rest of their friends get here the next day.

Raven’s text said that she was picking up Wells tonight and they’d be here by noon tomorrow, and Miller said they should be around the same time too, so long as Jasper actually gets up before two for once.

She sends Bellamy to change the sheets on the bed they slept on last night while she tackles the couch, wiping it down before using what must have been half a can of lysol spray on it. Whatever. It’s clean now and no one has to know that they had sex on it the day before.

She fully intends on keeping these good memories all to herself.

By the time they’re finished, the sun is just about setting and Bellamy whips them up a quick pasta salad for dinner. Once the dishes are cleared, she grabs his hand, dragging him away from the stairs and instead towards the door.

“Where’re we going?” he asks, hurrying to shove his feet in his slippers as she bounces on the balls of her feet. 

“You’ll see.”

“Was all of this a ploy to kill me?” he says. “Was your plan to seduce me with your feminine wiles and then kill me like some sort of black widow? Oh my god, you’re the axe murderer Raven was talking about.”

“Bellamy,” she says evenly, “Shut up.”

Surprisingly, he does, and allows Clarke to drag him into town all the way to the little ice cream parlour they passed earlier that day.

“I know we said that getting groceries would be the first date but I figured we could end it with something a little more traditional,” she says, suddenly shy as she tucks her hair behind her ears.

Ever so gently, Bellamy lifts her chin and kisses her, slow and deep, cradling her face with one hand while the other briefly knots in her hair. She soften against him, gripping the collar of his shirt and sighs when he coaxes her mouth open, tongue flicking against hers.

“You really are something else, Clarke Griffin,” he murmurs, his nose brushing hers, and she blushes.

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping I could change your mind about not putting out on a first date.”

Bellamy snorts. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“You’re my boyfriend now; you’re required to laugh at my jokes even when they suck.”

“I thought I was supposed to be honest with you no matter what?”

“Nah, that’s the job of a friend. You have to pretend to actually  _ like _ me at times.”

“Oh how will I ever live,” he deadpans, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

They get their ice creams – his in a cone and hers in a cup to which he snorts and calls her weak– and take the long way back to the house which involves walking on the beach.

They take their shoes off as they walk along the edge of the shore, the waves lapping at their feet, and Clarke leans into him, utterly content.

“When I was fourteen I dared Wells to go skinny dipping with me,” she says after he polishes off the last bit of his cone. She finished hers a while back, throwing the cup in the trash.

“Yeah? How’d that turn out for you?”

“Surprisingly well,” she say, and then pauses before tacking on, “Except for the fact that we got the flu like, two days later.”

He snorts. “Of course you did,” he says, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

They continue their slow, meandering pace along the shoreline and it’s only when she can see the lights of the house glowing in the distance does she nudge him.

“Hey,” she says, “Hey, Bellamy.”

“What?”

“We should go skinny dipping.”

“What.”

He stops in his tracks, looking at her like she was crazy.

“Come on,” she wheedles, “It’ll be fun.”

“Did you miss the part where you said you guys got sick afterwards?” he asks. “Did that, like, completely slip your mind?”

“We won’t get sick this time, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Clarke. You did pre med. You’re supposed to know this.”

“I tried my best to forget everything from that,” she says brightly, and then nudges him again. “Come  _ on _ . Let’s do it before the tide comes in. We can leave our clothes by the rock.” She jerks her head towards the giant rock that sat just out of reach of the lapping waters.

“No thanks.”

She pulls a face. “Well fine then. I’m going to do it,” she tells him, and then before he can say anything else, Clarke has thrown her shirt at his face and is bounding towards to rock.

“Dammit– _Clarke_!”

She’s already naked and in the water by the time he catches up to her, her clothes in a heap on the sand, and he does not look impressed.

“Seriously?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Come on, Bell, live a little,” she cajoles him, bobbing further out. “The water’s not all that bad.”

It takes him all of two seconds to make up his mind and then he’s grumpily stripping out of his t shirt.

“If I get sick I’m breaking up with you,” he warns, and she just wolf whistles as he shucks off his pants.

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” he swears as he wades in, “It’s fucking  _ freezing _ .”

“It’s not that bad, you little wimp,” she teases, coming up next to him.

“That’s because you  _ like  _ the cold,” he mutters mulishly. “I can’t feel my dick, Clarke.”

“Well I can,” she grins, giving it tug hello under the water and he swears again, this time for an entirely different reason.

They end up horsing around for a while, seeing who can create the biggest splashes like a pair of goddamn children and it’s  _ perfect _ .

They do end up staying out a bit too long though, because by the time they climb out, the tide has come in, leaving their clothes soaked.

Bellamy has to dive spectacularly to grab her slippers before they can float away.

It doesn’t help that the sky chooses to break open at that point either, and they only tug on their underwear before running back up to the house.

“If I die from pneumonia I’m gonna kill you,” he says, teeth chattering as they strip off their wet clothes right there in the entrance way.

Clarke snorts. “You won’t die, you big baby,” she says, socking him in the stomach. He bats her hand away and they end up in a little scuffle which leads to her being pressed against his front, one of his arms around her in a headlock and the other holding her waist to him. She grinds back against him suggestively and feels his dick twitch with interest.

“If you’re really cold then maybe I could help you  _ warm up _ ,” she says coyly, doing it again.

His head drops onto her shoulder and his hand drifts to press against her hips, the two of them rocking together, ass grinding against his slowly hardening cock.

“I just changed the sheets today, princess,” he says, mouthing at her ear.

The twist of her hips is meaner this time, and his breathing turns ragged as she looks around the room for a moment before her eyes light up.

“Who says we need a bed?” she asks, stepping out of the circle of his arms and walking over to the kitchen counter. She braces her arms against the cool granite and hears him swear behind her.

She glances over her shoulder with a victorious smirk. “Huh, Bell? What do we need a bed for?”

Immediately he’s all up on her, one his hands skimming the length of her body while the other cups her jaw and brings his lips down on hers for a searing kiss. “Shit, princess,” he breathes as his fingers drag against her folds. 

“Mmm,” she hums, arching her back like a cat. She’s already wet but he still insists on priming her with his fingers, getting her once before he actually gives her what she wants.

“You are something else entirely,” he tells her, when she’s still shuddering from her first orgasm, the sound of the foil wrapper crinkling right before he slides in. “Truly something else.”

Clarke doesn’t reply with anything other a soft keen, gripping onto the edge of the counter as he fucks her hard and fast. He lets his mouth run wild here too, telling her all sorts of dirty, filthy things that under any other circumstances would have her blushing, but instead she revels in it, arching into his touch and and crying out whenever his fingers drum against her clit.

His fingers catch on a snarl in her hair, sending a spark of pleasure-pain skittering down her spine and her orgasm takes them both by surprise this time. She thinks Bellamy says something behind her, right before he comes, but she can’t hear it over the thundering in her ears.

She doesn’t think she can move after that, and is just about ready to call this counter home, her spine stretched out weirdly, when something wet and cold touches the inside of her thigh and she jumps.

“Relax,” he says, using his still damp t shirt to wipe off the excess stickiness that’s started to drip onto her thighs. She finds herself blushing for some reason and grabs him for a kiss.

“Shower?” she asks against his mouth, and he nods, steering them both upstairs.

It’s just a shower this time, unlike last night, and by the time they’re both dried off and ready for bed, they’re half asleep.

Bellamy settles onto the mattress with a sigh before pulling her into his chest to sleep.

“Today was a good day,” she says softly, watching their joined hands. His own was so much larger than hers, all dark, freckled skin and calloused palms, a sharp contrast to her pale, soft ones. “I had fun.”

“Grocery shopping should be everyone’s first date,” he mumbles behind her, his breath stirring her fine baby hairs at the back of her neck.

“Hmm,” she sighs, and can taste the words that sprout up on her tongue, the same ones she forces herself to swallow back down.

_ I don’t want to have any other first dates. I just want you. _

It’s silly, considering that they’ve only been dating for a day now and even before that they were always fighting over trivial matters, but for some reason… it just feels right.

She still doesn’t say it though, and just settles back into his arms, feeling his warmth all around her.

“Get some sleep, Bell,” she tells him, and it isn’t long before the sound of his snores fill the room.

Clarke would like to say that she isn’t a very heavy sleeper usually, but somehow wrapped around Bellamy like this seems to put her in a fucking coma or something because the next thing she knows, it’s morning and someone is in their room and the only reason she’s waking up is because Bellamy has taken his arm back, which is incredibly rude. She was cuddling with that.

“Well, well, well, look how the  _ turntables _ ,” says an unbelievably smug voice from the doorway.

“Raven, what the  _ fuck _ ,” says Bellamy, his voice scratchy from disuse.

“I thought you weren’t coming down until lunch,” she adds on, squinting in her general direction.

It’s an obvious struggle for Raven to contain her gleeful expression, but she gets there eventually and tosses them an exasperated glare. “It’s eleven thirty. You kiddos slept the entire morning away.” Her grin turns wicked. “I wonder what tired you out so much, huh?”

“Cleaning this place for our ungrateful friends,” he grunts, sitting up. The sheet pools at his waist, exposing his chest and Clarke does not even  _ think  _ about glancing in the direction of Raven who’s no doubt looking like that cat that caught the cream.

“Why are you here so early?” she cuts in, still not meeting her eyes. “It takes a good three hours to get up here, four with traffic, and I know you refuse to wake up any earlier than at least nine on the weekend.”

“Well yeah,” she lifts one shoulder, “But Jaha was like a kid on Christmas and woke me up at 7:30.”

“Not to mention that you drive like a maniac!” comes a disembodied voice from downstairs and Clarke jumps.

“Wells is here!” she says, her brain finally kicking into gear, and she scrambles out of bed, pyjamas and all, to rush downstairs. Raven grumbles something in the background but Clarke ignores her in favour of wrapping her arms around her best friend.

He hugs her back just as eagerly. “I missed you,” he says, his hand cupping the back of her neck.

“I missed you too,” she sniffs, stepping away from him. He hasn’t changed that much in his time abroad; his shoulders look a little broader, arms a bit firmer, but he’s still the same old Wells.

Raven comes back down, brace creaking slightly as she takes the stairs, and perches on the armrest next to him as they catch up. He wraps an arm around her hips, easy as nothing, and Clarke lifts a questioning eyebrow to which the other girl responds to with a weak glare.

Bellamy shows up a little while later and shakes Wells’ hand after introductions are made.

“I’m gonna get started on brunch,” he says, resting a hand against the small of her back. Raven notices of course, and Clarke imitates her by sending a feeble glare her way.

“Do you even know how to make brunch?” she questions, and he just scoffs.

“Brunch is just glorified breakfast food that you’re allowed to drink alcohol with,” he says and she snorts.

“Yeah, that checks out.” She hops off the couch. “I’m going to shower. You’re welcome to watch Bellamy work magic in the kitchen if you want. It’s better than Food Network.”

“I think I might whip up some mimosas in the meantime,” says Raven. “After all, if we’re going to brunch, we might as well do it right.” She makes her way off to the kitchen and Wells follows her after nodding to the two of them.

When it’s just Clarke and Bellamy in the sitting room and the two of them are sufficiently out of earshot, she leans in and whispers, “Make sure you sanitise that counter.”

He rolls his eyes and steps into her space. “You weren’t even on it. And besides, I always wipe down the counters before I start cooking. It’s only  _ hygienic _ .”

“I’m just being  _ safe _ .”

He leans down and sneaks a quick, chaste kiss from her. “Yeah, yeah, go shower. You smell.”

“I don’t even know why I like you.”

“Oh I could give you  _ several  _ reasons why,” he says with a lascivious smirk.

“You’re an ass,” she tells him.

“Funny, that was one of the reasons you gave me two days ago.”

“Shut up and go make me food,” she laughs, shoving him in the direction of the kitchen.

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes her and, after glancing to make sure neither of the other two were watching, kisses her again, this time more languidly and thorough before setting her free.

Clarke hurries through her usual morning routine, brushing her teeth and showering in record time, but even so, by the time she made it back downstairs, Monty and they have arrived and were sprawled off on barstools and dining chairs.

Conversation flows easily between the seven of them, and Miller even steps up to help Bellamy cook while Clarke sneaks sips of his drink.

(She has her own, but it’s fun to steal from his just for the faces Bellamy makes at her.)

Brunch is great and when it’s over Clarke wants to do nothing more than crawl back into bed with Bellamy, or maybe watch some dumb tv, taking it easy for the rest of the day. Of course, their friends aren’t yet sun drunk and tired, so, despite her most vocal protests, they find themselves trekking down to the beach.

“Before anything happens,” Bellamy starts, the two of them lagging behind everyone else. She’s almost one hundred percent sure that Jasper and Monty raced ahead and are already splashing around in the shallows. “I just wanted to ask you what’s your stance on  _ this _ .”

“This?”

“Our relationship,” he says, and the stupid lopsided grin is back on his face. Honestly, she can’t be held responsible for what is does to her, making her lean up and kiss him.

“What about it?” she murmurs when they part, her lips brushing against hers when she speaks.

“Are we telling them? Or are we… keeping it to ourselves?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Well, Raven already walked in on us this morning so that’s pretty damning evidence. So I guess we can tell them? But it doesn’t need to be some big reveal or whatever. Just be normal and if they ask then just say it.”

“That was surprisingly helpful,” he says, eyebrows climbing up his forehead, and she hip checks him for the cheek.

“I have layers. Like an onion.”

“Okay Shrek. Oh come on,” he says when she shoots him an affronted look, “You walked right into that one.”

“I really hate you, you know that?” she tells him as the stone and gravel path starts to smooth out into coarse sand.

Bellamy uses their linked hands to pull her into his chest and kiss her right there, in full view of anyone who’s watching, and she lets him, twisting a hand in his shirt and drawing him close while his tongue traces her bottom lip.

She grins at him when they pull back, and he grins back, swinging their hands between them as they walk out onto the beach.

He’s only been gone for two minutes- off to horse around with Miller in the deeper parts of the water- when Raven takes his spot which. Honestly, she was expecting her to show up almost as soon as he got up so the delay is sort of a surprise.

“So,” she starts, bumping her shoulder into hers, “You and Bellamy, huh?”

Clarke bumps her back. “You and Wells, huh?”

She snorts. “Come on, that’s not news. You knew something was brewing there before he even left for Madagascar.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to be  _ validated _ .”

“I know,” she hums, leaning her head onto hers. “Which is why I want to know about you and Bellamy. I thought you said you couldn’t be friends with him.”

Warmth floods her cheeks and she ducks her head for a moment, blushing. “Yeah, well,” she says softly, dragging her finger through the sand. “Guess I was wrong.”

“So are you  _ special  _ friends?” she asks slyly, and Clarke bites her lip to stop from grinning so wide.

“We are… seeing where things take us,” she declares. “But yeah, I like him. And he likes me too.”

“That’s good,” she sighs, settling back to let the sunshine wash over her. “I told you you two would get along. Remember? I was willing to bet  _ money _ .”

She pinches her side and she swats her hand away. “I know, I know,  _ Raven knows best _ , I’ll get engraved on a plaque for you.”

She mumbles something like ‘damn straight’ under her breath as she relaxes on the beach mat and Clarke catches herself staring off at the ocean, watching the waves roll and tumble and crash onto the shore.

Bellamy catches her eye after a minute, and she wonders if he can see her without his glasses. She probably just looks like one pink skinned, blonde haired blob to him from out there. Either way, he flashes her that silly smile, the one that she’s only seen these past few days, the one that’s just for her and makes her heartbeat all funny, and  _ winks _ before dunking Miller, because her boyfriend is a huge dork.

Warmth blooms in her chest, and Clarke has never been so happy to be wrong about something. She likes this outcome far better.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [my trashcan](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/)


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